Markiplier Imagines

115 | this time around, i'll be better.

the long-awaited damien part has finally come. yes it took a month to finish it, and yes i'm working on other things, but on the bright side, ya girl is almost finished with a wilford part. almost. okay, enjoy the show guys! :)

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It used to be something meaningless.

You'd need a release, he'd need a distraction.

The two of you would meet up, maybe have a couple drinks, and then things would go from there.

There was only one problem now. You loved him.

His name was Damien, and he was the Mayor of a rather large town that had constant traffic economics and politics-wise. He rarely had a break, being the mayor of such a big city; days, nights, weekends, holidays were all spent signing bills, accepting plans, declining business deals. He truly never had an off day.

But on the rare occasion that he could slip away from it all, that he could distract himself for even just a night, you were there. He always called you after a rough day, voice hoarse and full of desperation, "Your place in an hour?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

You always accepted his calls because who were you to deny such things. He was simply something you loved to have, something you had become addicted to. He was your goddamn drug, and there was no rehab to pull away from it.

One night, when he came over, it went further than it ever had. Things were normal at first, drinks and then kissing and then everything else. But that night, that night he had whimpered and called out something you'd never ever think he'd call you.

He said baby, and he said your name with such want, such need. He called you love, and he called you beautiful. It was like an awakener, but you were more than positive that he wouldn't remember it the next morning.

So did you take it to heart? A little. Would you ever admit that? Nope.

That next morning, though, only made that cut deeper. You were in the middle of sleep and awake, and you could feel his fingers grazing across your cheekbones and you could hear his sigh of happiness. And as he got up, he placed a gentle kiss on your temple and then left without another word.

If that meant anything to him, he never said. And if that meant anything to you, you never said.

That was weeks ago, though. Weeks had passed and not a thing like that has happened again; he hasn't called you anything – not even your name, he hasn't stayed overnight. Hell, he's barely even stayed long enough to live in the moment. He just leaves within minutes of it happening.

Did it hurt? Absolutely. But you never said anything – that would only make things worse.

Tonight, you expected it to be no different.

He called, that same hoarse tone and those same semi-pleading words, "Your place in an hour?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

You knew you should've ended it weeks ago. Maybe you wouldn't be in this situation, maybe you wouldn't be trying to hold back from calling him baby and babe and Damien like you meant it.

When he finally showed up, you had already gotten the wine out, along with a couple glasses and a nice couple candles. Damien came in, without a word, passed by his wine glass, grabbed your arm and tugged you off the couch. You both headed toward your bedroom, and you thought that he was just desperate, that today had been rather awful.

You were right, but also wrong.

As you got to the bedroom, Damien simply shut the door and pushed you gently toward the bed. You landed on it softly, propped up on your elbows and watching as the mayor shrugged off his suit jacket, his shoes and his belt. Then he walked over to the front of the bed, laid down by the pillows and waved silently at you.